World So Cold
by Anthony MMXII
Summary: With the death of his parents Harry endures, and comes out, not better, but not worse either. But how would future adversities affect his already delicate psyche? Down the path of destruction. Harry/Multi


World So Cold

Rain When I Die

Anthony MMXII

**1**

Rolling green hills. Warming rays of sun. A cool breeze. A massive oak and a wooden swing. This normally would be a happy time for Harry. As a child he would spend the summers with his sister climbing the tree's branches, seeing who could get the farthest up, while their mother Lily yelled at them to dismount, playing quidditch and enjoying the innocent bliss of privileged childhood.

Just last summer, the one after fifth year, he and Daphne spent the days kissing and laughing on the swing under the protective shade of the oak, while little Brandon begged them to play their games for even teams.

The Potter family estate embodied his childhood pleasures – iced lemonade, the fastest broom, and giggling nights. It held a special place in his heart, irreplaceable and unequivocal. Before Hogwarts it was his preferred vacation place. The busy streets and train horns of London gave way to the stars and the whispering breeze. The city was superficial and unreal, tiny and confined in comparison to the vastness of the sky and them below it.

He walked to the oak, and sat gingerly on the faded white swing. Nostalgia and grief struck him like a bolt of lightening. It burned him. A tear broke its confinements and fell heavy as a brick. He hadn't cried in years, not since the family dog died. His brothers and sisters were too young to remember _that._ Harry wished the opposite of reality – the remembrance by his minor siblings of the dog's shallow and painful breathing, the lights of his eyes disappear and vanish, instead of this mockery of morality.

He kicked his legs slowly under him, building height and speed on the swing. His green eyes watered. He choked back a sob. This was his only time to grieve – by himself and away from those who looked up to him for guidance, answers, and leadership in these trying times.

"Hey." Daphne said, walking up to him. "May I?" she asked, nodding to the swing. He nodded and slowed down, trying to avoid dirtying his black leather shoes. Her black dress contrasted sharply with her milky pale skin, marring her normally colorful disposition. She wore silk. Elbow length sleeves and a vale. The only color on her appeared on her lips – crisp red lip stick that brought her violet eyes, that appeared inconsistently and randomly throughout pureblood families, out.

"How are you?" She asked sitting cautiously next to him.

"I miss them." He confided, eyes downcast and into the past. She wrapped her arms around him and he sought comfort in her loving embrace. He buried his face in her bosom, unleashing the torrent welling behind his mother's green eyes. Sobbing, she held him. She was more than a girlfriend. Her place, in his mind, was the truest and purest. He loved her, and he knew she felt the same.

"It's okay, baby we all do." She whispered, stroking his hair. "Come on, its starting," she said, taking his hand and leading him away. He didn't realize then, but later he came to understand – turning his back to the massive oak, with its limbs stretching and pointing to every direction, sad and lonely, and the faded white bench swing, he plunged head first, as if into the bitter cold waters of the North Sea, into adulthood, premature and unready.

The gnarled roots and rotten branches of his childhood, his innocence, behind him, Harry and Daphne made their way to the assembled friends and family of Lily and James Potter. There were nearly fifteen rows of chairs with an aisle down the center. The first was filled, but the rest only housed a few scattered people of varying familiarity with the deceased.

The procession took place on the neatly manicured lawn behind the Victorian manor. Red brick and arched windows, the house stood on the foundation of the Potter's first ancestral home, destroyed and rebuilt in the late eighteenth century. On a raised platform in front were the twin caskets, glazed mahogany, their faces remained henceforth unknown under the permanently sealed coffin.

Seated in the rear were some recognizable faces, even some Harry saw habitually. The small giant Rubeus Hagrid, who's matted grey rag of a handkerchief moistened with fat heavy tears, took up three seats and sat next to the Hogwarts' Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, who wore orange, the only guest to do so, and concluding the Hogwarts party – Severus Snape, the infamously bitter, rude, and pathetically lonely potions professor. Harry's eyes widened in surprise. He knew the man to be close to Lily in the past, uncomfortably so for James and Harry's liking, but apparently he fell out of favor with Lily, disappearing from her life altogether.

Harry could recall few other faces, some, Harry noted, might have appeared once or twice to the Potter's home in London, others at his parents shared birthday gatherings many years ago. They stopped hosting parties like those. Too time consuming were the five children they bore.

The couple strode down the aisle. Harry pointedly ignored the eyes of pity and somber condolences. Good intentions at heart, their looks irked him, placing him in a sour mood already. The cold stares fell away like autumn leaves as he approached his friends, his family, his life, warmth, comfort, and the easy rut of familiarity took over. He was amongst those who loved him, who felt his plight and shared it, making it their own.

Quasi-uncles Sirius Black, Harry's godfather, and Remus Lupin – forlorn and distant they stared, lost in memory. Sirius, his face thick with a heavy black beard and mustache, hiding his mute blue eyes, glanced up when Harry approached.

"Hey there." He said quietly, almost whispering. It was odd, almost frightening, to see the jubilant man, so gleeful and pleased with life, diminish to a tiny and diminutive fraction of himself. Remus' eyes flickered upward from their fixed position on the ground, revealing his bloodshot grey eyes. Alone Remus, who Lily found to be vastly more responsible than James or Sirius, was a quiet introverted man, caution and intelligence were his defining characteristics, but when in the presence of Sirius and James his eyes lit with loyal friendship and devilish antics.

"Hey."

"How are you faring, kid?" He asked.

"As can be expected." Harry replied quietly, "You?"

"About the same." He sighed. "Daphne, I'm happy you made it." He smiled weakly.

"Remus." Harry said, embracing the deeply sensitive man. Remus Lupin – a tortured soul in a tortured body, devoid of a childhood, Remus fought a battle prolonged, like a man and cancer, with lycanthropy. Bitten and diseased as a mere child, he warred with the blood in his veins, resisting the primal urges, and kept integral his human qualities.

"Harry." He whispered, voice weak and wavering, "You know I'm hear for you, always, if you ever need someone to talk to, and Sirius too, even if he may seem otherwise."

"I know, uncle. You mustn't be worried about me though," Harry explained, "It's them you ought to be concerned with." He said, motioning to his siblings. A somewhat large age discrepancy existed between the Potter children. The elder was he, Harry, at age 17, an adult already he had only his seventh year of Hogwarts left. The next took the form of a girl, Rose. Only a year younger she looked nearly identical to Lily. Sirius and Remus often joked that her and Harry were their parents as school children. Twelve years younger were Olivia and Brandon. Fraternal twins, Harry and Rose often joked they were an accident within an accident, they had brown hair, present in neither of their parents, but in Lily's, and hazel eyes reminiscent of James. Younger still was Micheal, a wide eyed boy, full of giddy excitement and boyhood wonder, he felt more like a nephew than an actual brother, so distant their age.

The topic of his kid brothers and sister brought an ache to Harry's heart, bleeding and wounded already. For the longest time Harry and Rose considered themselves to be the only children of the Potter's. As a family they were close, happy, and content. Lily had them barely out of school, young and ill prepared. James busied himself with work when they were infants, struggling to maintain the lifestyle they were accustomed, but the times he was home, they enjoyed each others company.

"Daphne. Where are your parents?" Harry asked of his girlfriend.

"Over there dear, talking to the Malfoys." She pointed.

"I'd go talk to them."

Harry's friends at school were not bound by house distinctions, as is the case for some. Slytherin was his house technically, but he spent just as much time in the Gryffindor common room as Slytherin's. His closest friends and their parents were present – Daphne, Draco, Ron, and Hermione, all loyal and all friends, although trepidations existed between Hermione and Draco, who held a negative predisposition towards muggle-borns. Obstacles were overcome and they came out better for it.

"Harry!" Aurora Greengrass nearly shouted. She rushed upon him hugging him like she bore Harry herself. Tears flowed freely from her kind blue eyes. Since the death of his parents nearly a week ago Aurora took the duty of Harry's mother upon herself, partly because she knew he and Daphne would be married soon anyway, and partly because she felt a boy should always have a mother to love him.

The Greengrass women were tall, the matriarch standing just below six foot, and Daphne a bit shorter still, but when they wore heals they stood taller than many men. Harry only barely stood taller. Mrs. Greengrass, the source of Daphne's striking good looks, more resembled her younger daughter Astorias than Daphne. She was buxom and curvy; a woman fantasized about.

Relations between Harry and Daphne's father Atticus were usually fresh, easygoing, and friendly, but under the especially somber circumstances conversations seemed strange – tense and unnatural.

"Sir." Harry shook the man's hand. He was short. Stern with flint grey eyes, he contrasted his wife in nearly every regard. Harry had to look down on him since his fourth year.

"Harry. My condolences, truly." Atticus said awkwardly. "You know you always have a place with us." He said forcibly. They conversed quietly for a few moments, Harry eager to quicken his pace. He wanted to be over badly.

"Excuse me." Harry said, leaving Daphne to talk to her parents. Harry moved about the congregation. Greeting familiar faces and welcoming new ones, thanking all for coming. He saw the Malfoys, Weaselys, and Grangers. Right before it was to start he distantly spotted Lily's sister's family sneak in, taking three seats in the very last row. Harry resented them. They were repulsive creatures; bitter jealousy, disguised as laughably false superiority, permeated from them like the stank of a rotting carcass, vile and repugnant.

The setting sun cast Rose's hair in fiery gold. Like the star itself she shone, dutiful and aesthetic, filling the frozen black void around her with the rays of her heart, warming and comforting. Despite the circumstances she fought bravely, appearing sound, for the benefit of their siblings. He took the seat beside her, saving the other for Daphne.

Olivia, Brandon, and Micheal, on the other hand, were not faring so well as their complacent faced older sister, who tried halfheartedly to soothe their wounded souls.

"Let us begin..." The priest began. Harry did not listen, nor did he even attempt to pretend to do so. For him it already ended, long ago, and this spectacle merely served as the conclusion of two people, for the benefit of the rest.

"...Lily and James Potter were beloved by many..." Dark clouds of despair loomed in the distance. Thunder cackled far off. The guests shifted in their seats restlessly, fearing the approaching storm. The day insofar was too warm, lazy, and peaceful for a funeral. Death was a day for clouds and the tears of God, drenching the mourners in cold regrets; with cleansing rain freeing them from the cumbersome memories of forgotten souls.

He did not realize it, but he had stood up with the other men, walked, and lifted the caskets. Remus, Sirius, Hagrid, Peter Pettigrew, even Micheal and Brandon clamored to assist in the last journey of their departed parents. They struggled. It was sad, really. It left a bitter taste in his throat. With flowing rivers of gold gushing from the Potter's vaults, and its generous reach, the Potter family had many friends, but in death all abandoned and fled, leaving the Potters with ghosts and debt, now all belonging to Harry, missive and lost.

"Thank you." He whispered.

The Potter family tombstones spoke to him like a siren, mystical and entrancing. _Join us _they whispered. With unused hands they made to grab him. They would not receive him on this day, but two others, disgraced and unwanted. Sorrow, was lost to him then. It had its time and died, just like them, leaving an emptiness, hollow and unguided, it took control of his heart, his mind. Perhaps they would find greater success in the next world than they did in this one. Harry hoped not.

Distantly he felt the warmth of another hand on his. It did not comfort him, only alienated him further from his experience. If anything he got colder. He shrugged off the hand.

"...May their souls rest in peace, embraced by the loving hands of our Lord." The blanket of tears crept over them with the wind and will of the dead. The heavens opened their weary dam. Into the ground they went. Thunder roared and lightening struck.

The oak tree, with its knots full of hidden secrets and centuries of stories, smoldered in ruin, black and dying.

**2**

The fireplace lit green, time and time again. The guests left, turning their back on him and his minor sibling, three of which couldn't cook their own bacon. The only remaining souls were Remus and Sirius, ever true. As the last person vanished the flames extinguished, casting them in darkness. They stayed silent. Absorbing the morbid and sudden realization of abandonment and utter loneliness.

"Alright kids, lets get on back to my place." Sirius told them. Micheal's face was pale still, and he clung to Rose's legs, while Brandon and Olivia clung to each other. It would be hard for them.

Harry admired Sirius and Remus. To take on the burden of the children of your departed best friends, was truly noble. Harry feared the future dynamic of their relationship, though. Remus, apparent even now, was sickly and constantly at the mercy of the moon above. He could not be relied upon consistently. Sirius, kind and always within reach, was not without trepidations. He had a girlfriend. Spanish and feisty and beautiful she was the only woman, to date, who could master Sirius' erratic and unfaithful tendencies, forcing him to shackle down. To make it worse, for the Potters, she was pregnant, and Sirius, who was so late to the game already, desperately wanted a family of his own. Leaving, in Harry's mind, no room for them. Sirius did not have money. His parents disowned him and cast him out for dipping to far below their blood standard. He was not upset.

"I don't wanna!" Micheal bawled, snot pouring out his nose and mixing with his tears, forming a liquid concoction of malicious mucus misery on his face. Micheal had black hair and light brown eyes, yet he only resembled James in trace instances, taking most from Lily.

"Come on kid, we can't stay here." Like Lily he was willful, consenting to few ideas that he did not invent or did not agree with. He ran off to into the maze of corridors and bedrooms of Potter Manor.

"You go ahead." Harry said to Sirius and Remus. "We'll catch up." They nodded and took the twins in hand and led them to the fireplace, disappearing in a plume of green smoke.

"Come on, I know where he went off to." Harry said, taking the same path as their kid brother.

"We cannot stay with Sirius, Rose. I'm sure you know this." Harry said, as they walked through the darkened corridor in the main part of the house, where the study, library, and master bedroom presided. There were many chandeliers, devoid of candles; they lit nothing.

"Yes, I assumed as much. The only thing we can hope for is him letting Micheal and the twins stay during school." Portraits of old and gone Potters stared at them from their permanent perches on the wall. The Potter patriarch and his family, all along down the hallway. Half way through was the most modern – cast not a year ago. James and Lily sat in chairs in the foreground of the painting, with Harry and Rose directly behind them, and the younger three on either sides.

Red rugs carpeted the hard wood floor, muffling their foot steps. Floorboards creaked underneath. The house was falling into disarray already. Harry truly did not wish to resort to selling the place for debts he did not incur.

To the left they passed the library, filled with tomes containing everything from the history of flying brooms to the family lineage to spells for corralling sheep. On the right was his father's study. Inside was a desk, not to intricately carved, but just enough, in front of a cushioned wood chair, surrounded by bookshelves. No one had the time so far to straighten it out. On the desk lay a mess of ledgers, scraps of parchment, quills, ink wells, and journals – all reminiscent of a business dead and gone.

As a child Harry would sit on his fathers lap in the chair behind the desk while he was busy working. Harry would pretend he was the owner and leader of a vast business, commanding subservient lackeys and eliminating lackluster ones. Other times he would take one knee and his sister the other, playing with each other and James, before he shooed them off so he could accomplish what ever he set out to do to do.

Harry fought urgently to dispel the creeping darkness, lingering in the two rooms, but coming full force from the master bedroom straight ahead. It crept into his vision and infected his heart. He fought the overwhelming desire to faint.

It was just surreal. The past weeks were many, but they blended together in a haze he couldn't remember. The strange numb, that came with the sensation of loneliness, abandonment, hatred, and unaccepted reality, streamlined the hours, transforming the days into a train, full force, it sped by. But now, the numbness wore off as he peered in to the blackness of the bedroom. Now he accepted – his parents were dead. He let it into his soul and made it apart of him.

They heard crying from inside the room. Micheal was curled up underneath the thick covers, sobbing, and trembling. Harry thought that Micheal understood the severity and permanence of the situation better that Brandon and Olivia. Harry let tender Rose soothe Micheal. She was always more in tune with the needs of others, and she would be a great mother some day.

Harry found some candles and lit them with the tip of his wand. The rain pattered against the windows. The mood was somber. Darkness rained supreme, cast away only by the dim candles, flickering, causing shadows to dance, seemingly synchronized with the rain.

Rose left with Micheal but did not return with him. She came back changed from her mourning dress and replaced it with simple jeans and a shirt.

"He's alright?" Harry asked.

"Fine. He nodded right off." She said.

"Sirius wants us to come stay with him, but I told we'll come someplace else." She told him. He nodded in agreement.

She sighed and sat beside him on their parents bed. "How are we going to pay for tuition? Supplies? Harry we have no money!" She exclaimed suddenly, breaking the silence.

"Don't you think I know it?" He responded hotly. "I can't believe they did this to us, to me." He stared, dejected. There was no money left. The vault in Gringotts was closed. They didn't have enough money to pay the monthly fees to keep it opened.

"Can you ask Draco's father? Mr. Malfoy?" Rose asked. The idea was viable, they were rich, extraordinarily so, but the very thought wounded his pride, and would cast their family eternally into the debt of theirs, something unacceptable in their society. That would be a last resort.

"Maybe."

"Well I don't see any other choice! Do you want us to drop out of school? Should I become some filthy prostitute on the streets? Is that what you want?" She started to cry. Her carefully constructed facade crumbled before his eyes. Gone was the role mode. The stable and sane sister. He made to hold her but she flinched away.

It was the beginning of August, and they were running out of time. Harry felt the responsibility weigh heavily on his chest, compressing, slowly suffocating him.

She lent all the pent up emotions leak out her eyes. Harry so dearly wished the day to be over. The heat inside was stifling. Windows couldn't be opened due to the rain. Harry took off his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt. Harry knew what he wanted.

Rose stood and walked to the window, watching the rain and sniffing quietly.

"We'll figure it out, don't worry." He said, following her. Harry wasn't short, standing a few inches over six foot with broad shoulders. As a younger Hogwarts student Harry played seeker, but eventually he got too big, slowing down, so, usurped by Draco, who was slimmer, he was switched to chaser fifth year. There was no doubt, though, he was unmatched on a broom.

He snaked his arms around her abdomen, and placed his chin on her shoulder, breathing on her neck. She tensed and tried to remove his hands, but instead ended holding them to her.

"It'll be alright." He whispered. He kissed the throbbing vein of her neck lightly. Her skin gleamed in the candlelight.

"Harry, no." She said weakly. "Not here, not now." She squirmed, but his arms held tight. She didn't try too hard. She wanted it just as much. Ignoring her, he slid her shirt aside, and kissed her shoulders.

"When else?" He grunted between kisses, running his hands up underneath her shirt. She moaned softly. It was not uncommon among pureblood elitists, what they were doing, although it was an unspoken rule to never mention or bring to light whatever happened behind the privacy of a closed door.

Harry heated up. The stagnant humid air collected upon their skin and fell as sweat. He sucked on her neck and earlobes, moving one hand up to fondle her breast and pinch her nipple, and the other down inside the waistband of her jeans. This time her moans were louder and her eyes closed. From the outside of her panties he rubbed her wet slit, eliciting a frustrated groan from her.

"What if someone comes?" She asked, attempting, futility, to cease what they both so desperately wanted.

"I sure hope one of us does." He growled, finally he could wait no longer, pulling her shirt up quickly and throwing her roughly on the bed, she gasped, and he removed his shirt with haste, and undid his belt. His pants were quick to follow. She let herself be taken. Passion fueled them.

She lifted her butt, so he could pull and yank on her pants until they came off. She was left naked, save for her lacy black panties. He took in the sight greedily. Her red hair lay strewn and messy like the flames of a fire. Individual strands danced across her face. Her blue eyes were cloudy with lust. His gaze drifted down – to her neck, and farther down to the creamy white valley, and the hills of her breasts, peaking into hardened pink nipples.

He came to her, with member stiff and alert, grabbed her by the waist and flipped her over on her stomach, leaving her ass in the air, beckoning to him. That way pleased him more than any other. It eliminated the awkwardness that came with the pleasure, creating an informal conjoining of two humans, primal and passionate. He didn't have to stare into his sister's light blue eyes, and watch her face light with pleasure caused by him.

There was another reason, too. It made him feel in control, strong, and dominant. Her face was in the sheets of the bed. He pulled her panties down, spread her buttocks, and stared hungrily at her sopping cunt, elusive to him for more than a month. He slid his cock up and down her wetness, teasing her.

"Hurry up already. Fuck me." She groaned, burying her face in the bed.

"Patience." He smiled. She tried to pleasure herself, so he locked her arms on her back with one hand, and encircled her puckered anus with the lubricated finger of his other. Her thighs tensed. He move farther down, lightly prodding her opening. She took the opportunity and impaled herself on his fingers. She bucked into them, screamed in release, and came on his fingers. Juices spilled out, dripped, and collected in a pool on the floor.

"There we go." He said, thrusting deeply inside of her. With hands around at her hips, he spared no reprieve, thrusting as deep and as hard as he could, reducing her to a moaning mess. Her insides were wet – velvet and tight – it was a high he was addicted to, and he never wanted to be sober.

Release came strong and hard. The overwhelming sensory experience engulfed him. Her feminine moans. The sight of the extreme curvature of her back, leading to her asshole, that winked, and where both juices and sweat alike pooled, to her slit, pierced again and again by his cock. Frantically, he sped up to near incredible a tempo. She felt it to.

"Uh...not...uh...inside...ahh!" She screamed, coming. Her walls contracted and tightened around him. Despite her warnings he came inside her, with an inhuman roar, he filled her insides with his seed. He only hoped it didn't take hold and quicken inside her.

Finally his pent up emotions were gone, deep inside Rose. He collapsed onto the bed and scooted to the pillows. Darkness encroached on his vision. He was so very tired, he forgot about the day and the ordeal that preceded it. Distantly he heard Rose.

"Why do you make me hate you?" She whispered. He would forget by morning.

**3**

"Harry!" Someone yelled in another part of the house. "Rose?" Harry blinked; groggily he awoke from a rejuvenating slumber, devoid of dreams or irregularities. Sunlight assaulted his sensitive eyes. The clouds had dissipated, leaving no trace of its existence besides the moisture on the ground outside. It was past noon.

Harry awoke sharp of mind, clear of thought. Harry did not quite feel ashamed of the night before, but wary of what consequences it might bring. Not because of the act itself, which they had done many times before, but for the manner in which they conducted it.

"Hey, get up." He shook Rose awake. "Get dressed," referring to her state of dress, which was considerably lacking, as well as his. She complied, emerging from the bed. Harry grinned, resisting the stiffening of his member, as he saw her perky pink tits and garden, red and wild.

They dressed in silence, acutely aware of sins committed. It bothered him only remotely. To him the pleasures of now outweighed the pains and difficulties of later. What was the point of living if he held reservations and trepidations, never risking, never enjoying? The choice was simple.

"Harry, are you here!" The person yelled once more. Harry could tell it was Daphne.

"I'm here!" He yelled back, leaving the room in his drawers, meeting her in front of the floo.

"You slept here?" She asked, noticing his dress. They embraced, kissing.

"Yeah. I was so bloody tired I crashed." That wasn't a lie.

"You should of told me, I could of slept over." She grinned mischievously, running her hands aver his abs.

"You and I both know we wouldn't have done much sleeping." She giggled.

"I went over to Sirius' place. He said he hadn't seen you. Is Rose here as well?" She asked, looking around.

"Yeah. She should be somewhere around here." He answered.

"Oh good. I was worried." She sounded relieved.

"Why? You know I can take care of myself." He said, running his hands over her ass. "I've missed you, baby. Where have you been?" He sucked on her neck.

"Oh its only been a few days! And besides, your breath smells something awful." She said, slapping him away. "But seriously, Harry, are you alright. You seem too, I don't know, chirpy, do you have a fever?" She asked concerned, feeling his forehead.

"No," He said, taking his turn in slapping her away, "I've just decided there's no point in suffering, I don't have time for that."

"Oh that's right, you're poor now. Harry, darling, you know you don't have to do this alone. Let me help you." She put a hand on his cheek. "Daddy will get you a job at the company. He wouldn't let his daughter''s boyfriend's family go hungry."

"I don't know Daphne. Let me think over it, okay?" He said curtly. He was tired of people giving him advice or telling him what to do.

"Well when you decide to talk, you know where to find me." She said angrily, turning on her heels and walking towards the floo.

"Don't be like that, Daphne!" But it was too late. Green flames engulfed her.

"Fuck!" He yelled suddenly the floo angered him. It signified nothing but people leaving, turning their backs on him, soon he'd be left with no one, save his thoughts and his sole voice.

"You deserved that." Harry jumped, forgetting his sister was still there.

"Rose. Did you sleep well?" He asked.

"Fuck you, did I sleep well!" She said, full of enmity.

"What?" He asked bewildered, "What's wrong?"

"You know full well! How do you expect us to have a normal family relationship, if you decide you want to, oh I don't know, get down and fuck?" She yelled.

"Oh come off it! We're the farthest from being normal! And besides, who cares what we do! Its between you and me."

"How do you think it makes me feel?" Tears sprung in her eyes. "What if I want a stable relationship? What do you think he'll say when he finds out I'm shagging you?"

"Just say no to me." He shrugged.

"You think its that easy? Like a switch being flicked? Just shows how fucking shallow you are!" She yelled, brushing past him and flooed away.

"Fuck!" He repeated. He didn't realize the magnitude of his affect on her. But he couldn't just swear her off, cold turkey, she didn't realize, but she held the same sway over him. She was different than Daphne, whom he cared for deeply. Rose was intoxicating, irresistible, like a drug. The taboo excited him fore than Daphne ever could. He ran his hand through his hair and swore. He was alone, inside and out. Life was not getting easier for him.

He couldn't wait to get back to school, where he could joke and forget about all the problems in the world, with his friends by his side. But first things first – he needed money.

* * *

Sup. Tell me if I wrote this a while back and am unsure if people would like it, but I wuz like whatteva man! Who cares just post that bitch. So tell me if I should write more of this, what ever it is.


End file.
